


From Ashes

by kradarua



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Firefighter Dean Winchester, First Time, Getting Together, Hospitals, Injured Dean Winchester, M/M, Medical Jargon, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Omega Dean Winchester, Physical Therapy, paramedic Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradarua/pseuds/kradarua
Summary: “You’ll be able to use your legs again,” Sam rushed, “just...well, it might take a while.”Dean exhaled sharply, frustrated, but forced himself to raise his head and take a look.ORDean gets injured on the job, and Castiel falls in love with him by mistake.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 681
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltnhalo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/gifts).



> Thank you so much to Saltnhalo for bidding on me in the 2019 iteration of Fandom Trumps Hate!
> 
> There were many, **many** , **_many_** delays in writing this and I super appreciate the flexibility with the deadline <3 I hope you find this worth the wait. =]
> 
> Thank you as always to my wonderful beta MalMuses for putting up with my shit.

The house had been beautiful once.

There wasn’t anything particularly meaningful about it; it wasn’t a place of worship or a municipal building, nor was it a rentable space for significant events. Nevertheless, the large stone house, with its well-manicured front lawn and chic porch swing, was considered an unofficial landmark by most of the town’s residents. Perhaps it had to do with its proximity to the local park.

The western wall of the house was already up in flames by the time they arrived; despite their best efforts at containment, the fire had climbed vindictively upwards along the princess tower and across the roof.

Shattered glass crunched under Dean’s boot as he picked his way around the easternmost portion of the ground floor. The floating wooden staircase to his right was still partially aflame and creaked ominously as he passed, threatening its instability as fiery tongues licked viciously towards the second floor. Through the smog, he could just barely make out a doorway at the end of the hall and he hurried forward, keeping close to the tall bookshelf on the opposite wall to avoid the stairs. His heart felt like it was beating somewhere in his throat. For a house this size, he was running out of rooms to search alarmingly fast.

The door was partly ajar and Dean shouldered through it, clicking on his flashlight against the murky darkness. The room was filled with thick smoke and a layer of soot covered everything but the farthest corner, but nothing was actively burning yet. A small and extremely time-sensitive victory, Dean noted, as the beam of his flashlight fell across a shelf jam-packed with various cans of paint and paint thinners, a workbench, and a jumble of stacked cans and bottles on the floor that looked like assorted cleaning solutions and automotive maintenance fluids. This room was a powder keg waiting for a lit match; if the team on the hoses couldn’t get the fire out soon enough, if he was pulled before he could find—

Dean swallowed back his frustration and forced himself to keep his adrenaline rush from tipping over into panic. He scanned the room once more, guiding his light quickly but thoroughly around the room.

“C’mon, c’mon...”

_There,_ jutting out from behind the pile of cans on the floor. Dean rushed over to the small, very sooty, sneaker-clad foot and found its owner tucked away behind the cleaning supplies, unresponsive. He pushed aside the cans and bottles and scooped the little girl up, thanking whatever deity was bothering to listen.

Back in the hallway, the staircase was almost entirely engulfed in orange and the smog was so thick Dean could barely make out the frame of another firefighter just ten feet ahead of him.

“Dean, time to go!”

“I’ve got her!” he yelled back, moving as swiftly as he could through the wreckage. In between furls of dark smoke he could see the other firefighter gesturing enthusiastically—something between a thumbs up and waving him forward, Dean guessed.

He’d have to pass the bookcase with his back to the burning stairs to keep his charge from getting hurt. The other firefighter coaxed him forward and moved as though to meet him partway down the hall. He readjusted his grip on the girl’s small frame, tucking her in close against his chest and steeling himself against the heat.

With a sudden, shuddering groan, the westmost section of the roof collapsed under its own burning weight. The house rattled and shook angrily around them. Behind him, the floating stairs bent dangerously away from their eroding support.

“Look out!” The panicked shout came from only a few feet away from him, but Dean barely heard it. 

The heavy, mahogany bookshelf wobbled threateningly, sending a few thick books and glass figurines to the floor. For half a second, it seemed like the thing had settled back into place, but then it came pitching forward, unforgiving.

_“Time is relative”_ was such a ridiculous, unfair concept. Despite his best efforts, he seemed to be moving at half speed, though the falling shelf did not slow its descent. His muscles burned as he made a mad dash to clear the shelving unit, he could feel the distance shrinking, but Dean knew with a sinking feeling in his gut that he wouldn’t make it in time.

With a desperate roar, he thrust the little girl into the waiting arms of the other firefighter just beyond the edge of the shelf. There wasn’t even time to see if she had been caught before one of the shelf edges connected brutally with his left shoulder, sending his weight too far to the right. Books thudded painfully against his legs and he hit the floor with just enough presence of mind to roll further to the right underneath the stairs, out of range of where the shelf would fall. But the thing was too tall to come down without any collateral damage; the top section connected with the burning staircase. Horrible, metallic scraping rang in Dean’s ears as the stairs were yanked away from the wall and all he could do was cover his head and pray.

Blinding, searing pain from somewhere below his waist stole his breath away. Spots danced in his vision, blotting out the flames above his head, and he blinked rapidly to dispel them. Alive, he was still alive.

But the remaining stairs above his head hung like loose teeth from the broken steel bar that had previously attached them to the wall; the jagged end of the bar swung back and forth slowly, creaking as it went, bowing towards Dean like a molten spear.

He tried to shift his legs and howled against what felt like someone pouring lava directly into his bloodstream. His mask was cracked and the smoke choked him, gathering in his throat and replacing the oxygen in his lungs with soot. 

Dean was man enough to admit that he was too scared to raise his head and see what had happened to his legs.

The edges of his vision were going dark again. He angled his head as best he could to check for the other firefighter and the little girl, but they were gone, presumably safely out of the building.

Good.

_ Bad, _ a selfish part of his brain countered. Who knew if anyone would be able to come back in for him?

A desperate sob left him, unbidden. He knew he needed to move, to force himself to work through the pain and get himself to safety, but no matter how loud the alarm bells in his own head, his body refused to act. Tired, he was so tired. Despite the fire still blazing around him, he shivered, blinking lethargically.

_ Strange, _ he mused,  _ my legs don’t really hurt anymore. _

— 

Castiel had seen an awful lot in his time as a paramedic. He rather prided himself on his ability to stay focused whether the situation was a dire flurry of life-saving activity or an overblown one that amounted to what was more or less a wellness check. Few things shook him anymore.

Still, there had been a fraction of a second’s shocked blankness when Benny deposited a badly injured firefighter on the stretcher nearest Castiel and tore off the cracked, blackened firefighter’s mask to reveal Dean Winchester.

“Bookshelf,” Benny had said, voice wobbling a little. “Took half the stairs down with it.”

Castiel nodded, securing a resuscitator mask over Dean’s nose and mouth and beginning to ventilate him, glancing over the rest of him to assess the damage. Dark, sticky crimson dripped ominously from a tattered hole in the left trouser leg and the right leg lay at an unusual angle, bent nauseatingly in places it shouldn’t have been. Castiel barked over his shoulder for Balthazar.

He looked up, giving Benny what he hoped was a reassuring expression, even though he knew Benny could recognize the severity of the injuries. Benny’s gear was much too thick for Castiel to scent him (and even without it everything around them smelled like ash anyway), but if his agitated stance was anything to go by, it hadn’t helped much.

Balthazar appeared on Dean’s other side, pulling Dean’s eyes open gently and shining a small light into each one.

“Pupils are unresponsive,” Balthazar declared, “We need to intubate; let’s get going.” He moved to the foot of the stretcher and together they lifted Dean into the back of the ambulance.

“Make sure he gets put back into one piece,” Benny said gruffly, helping to swing the doors shut. He clearly wanted to go with them, make sure Dean would be okay himself. But he knew better, Castiel suspected; there was still work to be done here.

Balthazar let the driver know they were ready and began pulling out tools for endotracheal intubation. Once his hands were free of the resuscitator mask, Castiel reached for his trauma shears and began cutting through Dean’s thick, uncooperative pants.

The ambulance lurched as it went over a pothole and Castiel jerked the trauma shears back, swearing. After what felt like far too much time he was able to secure a tourniquet around Dean’s left thigh; the other leg was definitely broken in several places but thankfully not actively bleeding. Not externally, anyway.

Whichever trauma surgeon was available certainly had their work cut out for them. Castiel hoped desperately that it would be Meg; she was one of the best.

His team worked with Dean and the other firefighters regularly; his interactions with Dean were very often limited to concise statements about what had happened to the people Dean handed off to Castiel and Balthazar for care. Despite the limited capacity in which he knew him, however, Castiel found that he liked Dean. He had a simultaneously commanding and soothing air about him and seemed confident in his ability to do his job properly. Castiel respected that.

It was disconcerting to see him so pallid and unresponsive.

Next, he turned his attention to the thick gloves Dean wore while Balthazar prepped two bore IV’s. The gloves came off without fuss; distantly, he registered the sound of something metallic clattering to the floor, but when he glanced down whatever it was had already rolled out of sight. He pushed it to the back of his mind in favor of shearing up the arms of Dean’s gear so that Balthazar could reach the insides of Dean’s elbows. 

The ambulance tilted as it began the familiar incline to the emergency room doors and Castiel released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Almost there. Dean was going to be fine, he would probably be  _ fine. _

The very second the vehicle stopped he threw open the doors and jumped down, pulling Dean’s stretcher out and wheeling him into the trauma bay.

“What’d you bring me, Clarence?”

A hysterical, relieved noise threatened to leave his throat at the sound of Meg’s voice. Dean would be in good hands.

“Caucasian male, omega,” he told her, “There’s a puncture wound above his left knee and at least three breaks in the right leg. Lungs are probably damaged from smoke inhalation. Singer should be here soon if he’s not already; ask him for the medical records for Dean Winchester.”

She nodded, barking instructions to the clinicians behind her as she began her examination. He stayed long enough to watch the doctors attach blood transfusion bags to the bore IV’s in Dean’s arms before Meg pushed him firmly towards the door.

“You know the drill, Castiel. Stay out of my kitchen.”

Outside the trauma bay, Balthazar leaned against the wall, taking slow, even breaths. Castiel slumped next to him, feeling frazzled and worn out the way he always did once an immediate emergency had been handled and the adrenaline-fueled focus had ebbed from him. Next to him, Balthazar breathed deeper, more audibly, wordlessly encouraging Castiel to match his pace. Beta though he was, Balthazar seemed to have an uncannily good intuition when it came to reading Castiel, even without scenting him. Just one of the many reasons they worked so well together.

Normally, he didn’t give much thought to anyone’s secondary gender. Tonight though, he  _ almost _ wished that Balthazar was an omega. He felt unusually keyed up and wished for someone with a soothing scent who he could draw a more primeval kind of comfort from.

“Right then,” Balthazar said after a few moments, pushing off the wall and cracking his neck, “We should head back. See if we’re needed for anything else.”

Castiel followed him back through the ER waiting room and outside to find rain coming steadily down. Good; the fire back at the once-beautiful house was surely out by now, but the rain would weigh down all the resulting soot.

He hopped back up into the back of the ambulance after Balthazar and nearly rolled his ankle landing on the unexpectedly not-smooth section of floor. 

“Christ, thank God you’re not that clumsy while we’re handling patients,” Balthazar chided, a hand on Castiel’s shoulder to steady him. Castiel rolled his eyes and bent down to pick up the object he’d stumbled on.

_ This must have been what fell earlier,  _ he realized, thinking back to when he had removed Dean’s gloves. There was nothing about the thick silver ring that suggested any spectacular value or meaning; no ornate designs or inscriptions.

It was grooved deeply in the middle and more shallowly at either end. Despite its apparent simplicity, it shone in the passing street lights, clean and clearly well-loved.

He wouldn’t be able to return it until Dean was out of surgery and accepting visitors, at the very earliest; there was nothing to be done about it now. The ring found a temporary home in his jacket pocket, and then he and Balthazar were exiting the ambulance again to assess the remaining work.

— 

For a wonderful and entirely too brief moment, Dean felt well-rested and, given the circumstances under which he’d lost consciousness, glad to be alive.

Then he woke up enough to process the burning, cracked feeling in his too-dry throat, his bone-deep exhaustion, and the incredible throbbing pain in both his legs that seemed to echo and reverberate throughout his entire body and wondered dully if he might not be better off dead after all.

He tried to make himself say as much but it felt rather like trying to chew a mouthful of sand. He must have made  _ some _ noise though, because suddenly there were footsteps on either side of him and a cool, wet cloth was wiped gently across his sore eyes.

“Welcome back, jerk.”

Dean smiled feebly, peeling his eyes open and blinking until Sam’s large frame came into focus to his left.

“Bitch.”

His brother snorted at the attempted greeting. “You sound like a broken squeaker toy someone left in the desert. Here—” A straw touched his mouth and Dean took several grateful gulps of chilly water.  _ Christ, _ had water always tasted this good?

“Chief’s gonna give you hell for this.” Benny stood to his right, arms crossed and looking tired, but fond. Dean released the straw and lay back with a huff.

“Aww, Bobby loves me,” he rasped. “Besides, we saved the kid.”

Benny smiled. “That we did, brother. Her mom sent the flowers and artwork along as thanks.” He nodded to the table near the head of Dean’s bed. “Hey, stop your wriggling,” he chastised when Dean tried to adjust himself to see, uncrossing his arms and pulling the table better into view.

There was a vase filled with colorful flowers and a cheerful “Get Well Soon” sign. Leaning against it was a crayon drawing of what Dean guessed must be himself and Benny in their gear, wearing superhero capes and standing on either side of a little girl. Dean smiled, even though his cracked lips hurt.

He put his hands on the mattress and tried to push himself into a better sitting position, but as soon as he shifted there was a searing pain in both of his legs. Beside him, Sam fussed about Dean taking it easy and muttered something about “at least a few weeks”. Dean gulped and sank back, afraid to look at his lower half.

“How, um...how bad is it?” he asked, wishing he sounded less timid. There was silence for what felt like an hour.

“You lost a lot of blood, Dean,” Benny started. “That bookcase damn near crushed your right leg. The metal support beam holding up the stairs snapped in half and ripped into your left thigh muscles.”

“You’ll be able to use your legs again,” Sam rushed, “just...well, it might take a while.”

Dean exhaled sharply, frustrated, but forced himself to raise his head and take a look.

Almost the entirety of his right leg was encased in metal rings that appeared to be holding a vast assortment of surgical pins together. His left leg from the knee down seemed alright except for bruising and a few surface-level burns, but just above his knee to the middle of his thigh was wrapped in thick white bandages. He dared not move the right leg for fear of disrupting anything, so instead, he tried to turn his left leg just slightly.

Just as before, pain so sharp it stole his breath flared and then settled into an angry, pulsing throb. He grit his teeth.

“I’d recommend not doing that again, for now.”

Dean scowled, but Sam cut off his scathing reply with quick steps and an outstretched hand. 

“Doctor Masters, good to see you again.” 

The doctor arched a dark eyebrow, but shook Sam’s hand and nodded to Benny before flipping to the next page of her clipboard. She made a shooing motion at Benny, taking his place to the right side of Dean’s bed and stood there, muttering to herself about something on her papers. After a moment, she put the clipboard down.

“Nice to see you awake, Mr. Winchester. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

“Uh—” Dean watched warily as she reached for his metal-enclosed leg. Despite the sharp, cynical aura she gave off, her touch was surprisingly gentle. She nudged his leg carefully to check the rings and then began pressing gently around each pin site. 

“Any pain?”

Dean snorted. “Tons of it,” he quipped. Doctor Masters arched an eyebrow again and gave him a wry look.

“We’ll get you on some good stuff for the pain; it doesn’t seem like any of your discomfort is infection-related though, so that’s good news.” She moved to the other side of the bed to examine his left leg. “You’ve been out for around three days,” she said as she slowly peeled the heavy bandages away from his thigh, “and I want to keep you here for a handful more so I can keep an eye out for complications.” Dean caught a glimpse of a rather long line of stitches above his knee and heard Benny whistle lowly at the sight before the doctor replaced the bandages, apparently satisfied.

“This your handiwork?” Dean asked her, nodding down at his legs. 

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’ at the end, “I’m Doctor Meg Masters, your handy-dandy trauma surgeon. I was serious about not moving before your leg is ready for it, got it?” She gave him a stern, but not unkind look. “You’ll undo all my hard work.”

Dean frowned, frustrated, but nodded begrudgingly.

“You’ll have to work with a physical therapist to regain full mobility,” Dr. Masters continued, “It’ll take some time; don’t expect to be running into any burning buildings in the next few weeks. If you try to rush things, you risk causing further damage, which will just mean starting over again from the beginning.”

“A few  _ weeks? _ ” Dean knew, rationally, that broken bones took their sweet goddamn time healing (he had no idea about the torn muscles in his thigh). Still, it felt like salt in the wound that it would take so long and he was ready to unapologetically pout about it.

“What will we need to do once he’s home?”

That was Sam’s no-nonsense caretaker voice. Dean rolled his eyes; his little alpha brother was going to nurture him to death, he could feel it.

“We’ll give send him home with crutches for around the house,” Dr. Masters said, “and in about three weeks I’ll remove the stitches. The fixator—” She tapped lightly on one of the metal apparatus holding his leg together. “—will stay on for at least six weeks, but probably more.” 

Dean groaned and sank back against his pillows. Meg chuckled. “Sorry, Dean. That bookshelf beat the crap out of you.” He raised his head to glare, but there was no heat behind it. Meg’s smirk only widened.

“Aw, don’t worry Dean,” Benny piped up, “I showed that bookshelf whose boss on your behalf.” 

“My big strong alpha,” Dean simpered.

“Your big strong alpha should get out of here and face his next challenger: our Fire Chief,” Benny declared, gathering his coat and cap. “Bobby’s been asking for updates and I’m sure he has a stack of workplace injury forms a mile high for both of us.” He gave Dean’s arm one last reassuring pat. “Listen to the good doctor, you hear? Don’t rush it. Bye now.” With a wave to Sam and Dr. Masters, Benny left.

“I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” Dr. Masters said, “If you need something before then, flag down one of the nurses.”

Once she was gone, Sam reclaimed the chair on Dean’s left.

“I think I should probably stay with you for a few days once you’re discharged,” Sam said, looking a little anxious.

“You’re such a  _ mom, _ ” Dean teased, grinning at the bitchy expression it earned him. “But uh,” he said more seriously, “yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea. Just in case.”

Sam smirked triumphantly, but when Dean raised a hand to scratch his nose, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dean, what happened to your ring?”

Dean looked down at the blank space where their father’s ring almost always sat on his fourth finger. He wore it so regularly that there was a visible tan line.

“I assumed it got tossed in with my other things,” he mused.

Sam shook his head. “You didn’t  _ have _ any other things, Dean. Your gear was cut to shreds, they threw everything but your boots and gloves away.”

“Shit—they must have taken it off during surgery, right?” Surely the doctors here were not in the habit of tossing their patients' jewelry. “Or it got stuck in my glove?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, “We can ask Dr. Masters next time we see her.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed dejectedly, leaning back against the pillows. Now that he was more aware of its absence, he couldn’t stop running his thumb back and forth over the space where it should have been.


	2. Chapter 2

If someone had asked him to guess which injury would be the biggest pain in the ass, Dean would have guessed the leg broken in several places without hesitation. There was a giant metal cage around it, for God’s sake, and it was keeping a bunch of surgical pins—which were, in turn, holding his shattered bone together—from misaligning or coming loose. Knowing that the surgical pins went all the way down to the bone made the sight of them coming out of his skin grotesque; he didn’t like to think about it for too long. 

And yet,  _ somehow, _ the broken, caged leg was the least of his problems during his physical therapy sessions. At least he could reliably put weight on it already, a victory that could decidedly not be attributed to the left leg even five weeks after the injury.

Charlie said it had to do with optics. The stitches had been removed two weeks prior, the wound had scarred over and only a few scabs from the stitches remained, and the rest of the bruising from the initial injury was long gone. For all intents and purposes, it  _ looked _ like his left leg was fully usable, especially compared to the fixator-encircled right leg.

But it was all a dirty, sneaky lie.

“Two more,” Charlie said cheerfully, her hands hovering underneath his left calf.

“I hate this one,” Dean got out through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath in and gripped the sides of his seat, trying to straighten his leg as much as he could, exhaling through the pain when he reached his limit.

“Your complaints have been noted and filed,” Charlie chirped, patting his shin when he dropped his leg down again with a grunt. “One more, come on.”

Some days were better than others. The fixator and the broken leg it housed were surprisingly cooperative as long as Dean didn’t make any sudden movements; most of his grievances with it could be attributed to its bulk and the difficulties of showering with it. The torn muscles in his thigh would feel nearly okay one day and agonizing the next, making it very hard to plan anything for any given day with even a shred of reliability. On especially bad nights, he would wake in a cold sweat with the taste of soot on his tongue and the feeling of fire burning right at the center of the wound.

Charlie was an excellent physical therapist though, and Dean appreciated her patience with him and all the complaining he came bundled with. She was friendly and encouraging and Dean loved to argue with her about which Harry Potter movie was the best.

She was also always ready, with a story from her latest LARPing escapades or an enthusiastic analysis of whatever show she was currently hooked on, to distract Dean when he fell victim to discouraging thoughts.

“Nice!” Charlie praised him, standing from her crouched position while Dean caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “Let’s go for a short walk and then we’ll call it for today.”

— 

Castiel hadn’t meant to leave Dean’s ring in his jacket pocket for so long.

Three days after the accident he’d gone back to the hospital, but the receptionist had informed him that Dean’s visitors were limited to immediate family only. When he’d gotten home he had resolved to try again in a week. The ring went back into his jacket pocket, a week came and went, and Castiel had forgotten about it.

If it hadn’t been unusually blustery this morning, the jacket would have stayed in his closet and the ring would have remained forgotten. Instead, here he was, heading across the street to the physical therapy center at Meg’s suggestion. According to her, Charlie and Dean would be there for about thirty more minutes.

It occurred to him as he walked through the door that he could have just given Dean’s ring to Benny or Meg or Bobby Singer, but a selfish part of him wondered how Dean was doing. Obviously, Dean hadn’t been present at any emergency calls in the last six weeks for Castiel to ask.

He hoped, though, that Dean wouldn’t be too annoyed that his ring had been with Castiel all along.

At the receptionist’s direction, he turned down the left hallway and knocked on the second to last door. A muffled voice summoned him inside and Castiel pushed the door open.

“Cas, hi!” Charlie’s voice was bright, as always. “Long time no see!”

“Sorry, Charlie,” he said, meaning it, “I’ve had a busy few weeks. How did the battle for Moondoor go?” He moved further into the room to stand next to where Charlie knelt.

Castiel liked Charlie very much. They had become fast friends the previous year, after an unfortunate accident that had resulted in his shoulder dislocating. Charlie was bubbly even as she coaxed him through painful rehabilitation exercises and he liked that she was perfectly happy to fill lulls in conversation when Castiel couldn’t think of anything to say. Dinner once in a while—whenever their schedules happened to align—continued even after his shoulder had been fixed.

“We won, of course,” Charlie announced proudly, “and I was crowned Queen. You’re in the presence of  _ royalty. _ ”

“Should I get down on one knee, your grace?” Castiel asked solemnly, teasing. Then, in his normal voice, “Hello, Dean.” He was very pleased to see Dean looking well.

Dean chuckled. “Hey, Cas,” he said, smiling up at him from where he sat, “Are you here to rescue me early?”

“No cheating!” Charlie admonished. “Let’s do some walking. Want to try getting to the treadmill without crutches?”

Dean sighed dramatically. “Fine, your majesty. Help me up?” 

Castiel assumed the request had been for Charlie, but Dean was reaching towards him instead. After a beat, he offered his hand for support while Dean tugged himself to standing.

“Cas, can you spot him on that side for me? Keep your hands off unless he needs help.”

“Of course.”

Dean’s hand dropped from his and Castiel watched as Dean took a few deep breaths, shifting his weight very carefully into each leg. The left was clearly more troublesome than the right, going by the way Dean winced sharply the closer he leaned towards Castiel.

“Remember to breathe,” Charlie said. Dean nodded, brow furrowed in apprehensive concentration as he stepped forward onto his left leg, arms out for balance. Castiel’s hands came up reflexively when Dean wobbled a little, but then Dean took another quick step—he obviously didn’t want to linger on the bad side—onto the right leg, looking a bit more stable. 

“Great!” Charlie praised, “Just a few more steps, you’re fine.”

Another, more secure step onto the left leg, then the right, then left again, then right again. Dean’s expression changed from trepidatious to cautiously optimistic with each successful step. Castiel couldn’t help but smile.

But then, on the next step, shock and pain marred Dean’s lovely features and he crumpled, his left leg buckling underneath him. Castiel was there to catch him; one arm went around his Dean’s waist, pinning him to Castiel’s side as Dean clung tightly to the other, panting.

“God _ dammit. _ ” Dean hung his head, his scent sharpening in frustration. Castiel readjusted Dean so that he was upright, but kept his hold on him as Dean pulled his left foot off the ground completely.

Despite meeting him around two years ago, this was the very first opportunity Castiel had been given to detect any trace of Dean’s scent. Usually, if they were in close proximity Dean was hidden behind his thick turnout gear. Even though it was currently layered under notes of irritation, Castiel felt calm and warm as he breathed in clean laundry and cedar. Absently, he inclined his face subtly towards Dean’s neck.

“Thanks, Cas,” came Dean’s gruff voice, snapping him out of the pleasant lull his mind hand sunk into. Castiel shook himself, hot embarrassment and guilt prickling up his spine. He hoped neither Dean nor Charlie had noticed his inappropriate behavior; he recognized the sudden wisp of rainwater in his own scent as blossoming arousal, but neither omega knew him well enough to peg it as such. Probably.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Dean,” Charlie said, her tone gentle but leaving no room for argument, “Last week you couldn’t even take two steps. You’re making great progress.”

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t sound particularly convinced.

Together, Castiel and Charlie helped Dean hobble across the remaining distance to the treadmill, where Dean braced himself on either of the handrails. Charlie punched in the correct setting but did not immediately press the start button.

“Take a moment to rest,” she said instead, “I’m going to take a quick bathroom break and then we’ll walk for fifteen minutes. Cas, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. 

Charlie made her way to the door, calling over her shoulder to Dean, “Be on your best behavior!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m  _ adorable, _ ” he muttered insistently. Castiel chuckled.

“So,” Dean said, “What have you been up to, Cas? Anything fun happen, or has it all been dumb teenagers getting stuck in swingsets?”

Dean laughed brightly as Castiel made an exasperated noise and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. On one of his more ridiculous calls, he and Balthazar had been summoned to a park to find a group of teenage girls trying to get their friend unstuck from the baby swing she’d managed to squeeze herself into. Apparently, she had boasted to her friends that she was petite enough to fit and had then been challenged to prove it. By the time Castiel and Balthazar arrived, the girls had retrieved dish soap from home and were slathering it on their friend’s legs in the hopes that she’d be slippery enough to get out. Unfortunately, the soap had hardened in the chill of the winter night. They’d had to take the swing down and cut the girl out of it.

It made a great story now, but that night at three in the morning in below-freezing temperatures, Castiel had been less than amused.

“No, thank goodness.” He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets for lack of anything better to do with them and his fingers brushed something cold. “Oh!” Somehow, despite his express purpose in coming here having been to return Dean’s ring, he had nearly forgotten about it once more. “I have something for you,” he said, pulling it out.

Dean watched curiously as Castiel uncurled his fingers, the ring sitting in his palm.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, eyes wide in recognition, “is that—oh my God, it  _ is! _ ” He plucked the ring from Castiel’s hand and secured it hastily around the fourth finger of his right hand.

“I, uh—I tried to return it sooner,” Castiel explained, “I stopped by the hospital a few days after the fire, but they told me you were only seeing immediate family. After that, I’m afraid it slipped my mind.”

“I thought it was gone for good; where did you  _ find _ it? How did you even know it was mine?”

“It came off in the ambulance when I removed your gloves. By the time I found it, you were already in surgery.”

Dean nodded enthusiastically, bringing his ring finger to his face and dropping a quick, relieved kiss to the metal. It clearly held rather a lot of significance, judging by Dean’s elated incredulity about its safe return. Castiel smiled, infected by Dean’s happiness.

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Dean said quietly, “but it’s really important to me. Thank you, Cas.”

Castiel had seen Dean smile many times—not all of their encounters were due to absolute disasters, after all—but there was usually something playful or mischievous in the curve of his mouth. The expression Dean directed at Castiel now was softer somehow, more sincere.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean leaned forward a little over the handrail to pull Castiel into a hug, patting him firmly on the back before releasing him. Castiel worked hard not to let himself get carried away by the proximity, even as the smell of Dean’s happiness—bursts of chamomile amidst the cedar and fresh cotton—teased him.

Once Dean pulled away again he was silent for a moment, thumbing thoughtfully over the groves of his silver band.

“Hey, uh—”

“I’m back! Was he horrible to you?” Charlie strode cheerfully back into the room, tucking her phone into her pocket. 

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but Dean beat him to it, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Charlie, it was a nightmare!” he started, voice adopting a watery, emotional lilt, “However could you leave poor, delicate me in the brutish arms of such an unhelpful, uncaring alpha?! I’m damaged, I’m traumatized, I—”

“I was talking to Cas, actually,” Charlie interrupted, giving Dean and his histrionics an exasperated look. Dean put on a wounded expression for a moment, but it quickly melted into his usual playful grin.

“Relax Charlie, I didn’t do anything.” Dean winked at him.

“Anyway,” Charlie said, turning to Castiel, “thanks for babysitting.”

“My pleasure,” Castiel said, amused, “but I’m afraid I should take my leave if her Highness permits it.” Castiel bowed low to Charlie.

Behind him, Dean chuckled, and Charlie giggled before clearing her throat and doing her best to sound serious. “Very well,” she acquiesced solemnly, “so long as you swear on your honor that you will take me to dinner soon, so we can catch up properly.” 

“I do so swear,” he returned, equally solemn, as he rose to stand properly again.

“Yay!” Charlie’s serious expression gave way to an excited smile and she squeezed Castiel in a tight hug before stepping back. 

“Come back any time,” Dean called when Castiel was almost to the door. “It gets awfully boring and lonely down here.” Castiel blinked, surprised, but nodded.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a  _ delight _ —” The rest of Charlie’s protests faded as Castiel left the room.

— 

It was only later, when Castiel caught himself daydreaming about half-imagined fantasies of spending warm summer days with Dean at the beach or dragging Dean up to his bed at the start of a thunderstorm, that it occurred to him that Dean’s ring could very well be a sign that Dean was already in a committed relationship. Castiel was struck suddenly by how little he knew about Dean. He certainly didn’t  _ smell _ mated, but that didn’t mean he was single.   


People wore jewelry for plenty of other reasons, of course, and the ring’s design was modest enough that it might just be a piece of jewelry Dean was particularly attached to. Then again, plenty of people preferred unobtrusive engagement rings; Dean’s distress over losing it was probably due to the sentimental worth of a precious gift from a loved one as opposed to the actual monetary value.

Was it too late to ask about it?  _ Yes, it was, _ he decided as he approached the physical therapy building the following week. The time to ask would have been during his last visit when he returned the ring. That opportunity had passed, and he couldn’t think of a way to ask now that didn’t seem horribly forced and awkward.  Oh well. He’d have to wait until something prompted Dean to bring it up organically.

In the lobby, Castiel recognized the familiar frame standing in front of the building map. He approached the other man, stopping next to him.

“Hello, Benny.”

“Jesus!” Benny jumped, startled. The coffee cup in his hand tilted precariously, sloshing liquid over his sleeve.

Castiel flushed and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Apologies,” he said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“‘S alright, cher,” Benny said, pulling a napkin out of his pocket and dabbing at his wet sleeve. “Dean warned me that we’d need to put a bell on you,” His voice was teasing. “I thought he was just being dramatic, but maybe he had a point.”

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, grateful that Benny seemed as amicable as always.

“What are you doing here?” he asked after a moment.

“Trying to find Dean,” Benny said, gesturing towards the map, “Charlie tells me he’s been going a little stir-crazy.”

Benny was new in town, relatively speaking; he’d only been employed with the local fire department for about five months. Dean had dragged the new alpha with the charming southern drawl under his wing (at least from what Castiel could tell, based on how well they worked together), but Castiel hadn’t had much occasion to meet him in any meaningful capacity; probably the most words they’d spoken to each other was the night Benny had carried Dean out of the burning building by the park. Benny was, at the very least, good at his job and fiercely loyal.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever introduced myself,” Castiel said, offering a hand, “Castiel Novak.”

Benny’s grip was firm but not aggressive. He gave Castiel a once-over and Castiel did the same; the extra moment alphas typically left between the introduction and an actual handshake was meant for a quick sizing-up. The behavior was rooted in primitive, territorial tendencies, and was by modern standards rather meaningless. Neither Benny nor Castiel could claim this lobby as their  _ territory. _

Benny shook his hand, satisfied with whatever he saw in Castiel. “Nice to properly meet you,” he said, “I’ve seen you around, of course, tending to patients and the like. It’s good to have a name to match with the face. Listen—” Instead of releasing Castiel's hand, Benny leaned towards him. “—thank you for...well, for being damn good at your job, I guess,” he said, eyes earnest. “He’d kick my ass if he heard me say so out loud, but Dean means an awful lot to me. I was near petrified when I found him under that bookshelf.”

Castiel blinked, taken aback by Benny’s openness. But he nodded, clasping Benny’s upper arm in comfort.

“No thanks needed,” he assured the man, “I understand. Dean has a knack for getting under peoples’ skin whether they want him to or not, it seems.”

Benny laughed, a low, mirthful sound. “That he does, Castiel, that he does.” Benny dropped his hand and adjusted his newsboy cap. “Well, lead the way,” he said, gesturing to the hallway in front of them, “Let’s go see if we can’t persuade him to sit still through another session. Stubborn sonuvabitch.”

Castiel chuckled, starting down the hall. Benny fell in step with him.

“You should have seen him when he woke up,” Benny said, “He was whining and pouting like a toddler when Dr. Masters told him he’d be out of commission for several weeks.”

“I tried to see him a few days after the accident,” Castiel replied, “I was turned away because I’m not immediate family. They let you up?”

Benny clapped him on the shoulder. “Apparently I count as family if I tell them Dean and I are engaged,” he said, sounding gleeful.

Castiel felt like he’d just swallowed rocks.


	3. Chapter 3

“Clarence,” Meg said as the door clicked shut behind him, “if you keep coming here smelling all dejected, I’m going to have to insist that you bring me a scented candle.” She barely glanced up from her forms as he crossed the room and settled into one of the chairs in front of her desk. 

Castiel sniffed himself surreptitiously, rolling his eyes when he determined that his blockers were in full effect. Meg was most likely just picking up on his glum mood.

“So,” she said, still writing, “Did your gorgeous omega blow you off?” Meg snorted at her own double entendre. “Try flowers next time. You know omegas, always getting gooey over romantic gestures.”

Castiel arched an eyebrow. “ _ You’re _ an omega.”

“If you say so,” she replied absently, attention clearly elsewhere for the moment.

“Did you actually make a move and get rejected?” Meg asked ten minutes later, setting her completed forms aside, “or have you talked yourself into rejection prematurely?”

“Technically the latter, I suppose.” Meg looked ready to tell him off, but Castiel spoke over her. “He’s engaged to Benny.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but a second later her eyes narrowed at him like she was trying to puzzle something out. “I see,” she said after a long moment. “Well, you’ll be able to admire him from afar once he’s back on the field. I took his fixator off a little while ago.”

“How is he feeling?”

“Ask him yourself,” she said, looking at him shrewdly, “He should still be down in the outpatient department.”

— 

It was only fitting, Castiel supposed that he should run into Benny on his way to the recovery room. Rationally, Castiel knew it was ridiculous to harbor any ill will towards him—Benny hadn’t  _ stolen _ Dean from him; he would still have been rejected even if he’d summoned the courage to ask Dean to dinner—but it took effort anyway to school his expression into something neutral.

“Hey there, Castiel. Come to see Dean’s triumphant return to freedom?” Benny smiled at him, unknowingly melting away Castiel’s anger. He’d been nothing but friendly; the least Castiel could do was be respectful to Dean’s partner. 

“Yes,” he confirmed, “Are you leaving?”

“If you thought Dean was going stir-crazy  _ before _ —” Benny shook his head, but he sounded fond “Now that the metal thing is off him, he can’t wait to leave. I’m off to try and find him some pie; hopefully, it’ll appease him long enough for the nurses to run their tests.”

Castiel smiled wryly. “Good luck.” Benny moved to continue down the hallway, but Castiel stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Before you go,” he started, feeling more than a little awkward but determined to meet Benny’s friendliness halfway, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your engagement. I’m sure you’ll be happy together.” Maybe verbalizing it would help him get over his feelings faster, or something.

The very surprised look on Benny’s face was not the reaction he had expected. Benny opened and closed his mouth without saying anything before clearing his throat and trying again. “That’s...real kind of you, Cas,” He was smiling now, but the perplexion remained. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t realize word had gotten to anyone yet.”

_ Oops. _ Perhaps they were keeping it a secret for now; that would explain why Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything and Meg hadn’t known. It even explained why he hadn’t seen Benny and Dean embrace. They were being intentionally discreet.

“I...must have overheard something,” Castiel backpedaled.

“We really oughta get a bell for you,” Benny chuckled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “What can I say?” He smiled dreamily. “I know I haven’t been around long, but it feels right. Little old fashioned maybe, getting married properly before we mate, but—” Benny shrugged. “It works for us. I’m a lucky man.”

Castiel offered the most sincere smile he could conjure. “Your fiance is lucky too.” And he meant it. Benny was strong and capable, patient with Dean’s somewhat mercurial moods; his natural state was firm but gentle, a good complement to Dean’s more boisterous personality. They would make an exceptionally handsome mated pair.

“Thank you, Cas. That means a lot.” Benny beamed at him. “I’ll see you around.” With a final departing pat to Castiel’s arm, he left.

— 

“Goddammit Sam, where did you hide my fucking  _ pants _ —”

All he wanted to do was get out of here. Maybe if he got dressed, the nurses would take his requests to be discharged more seriously.

He was just contemplating whether or not Sam would have gone as far as to put his jeans  _ in _ the heater under the window when a familiar,  _ very _ pleasant voice spoke up behind him.

“Should you be out of bed?” Castiel asked from the doorway.

Dean threw his hands up with a groan, exasperated. “Jeez, not you, too.” There was no reason for such a nice voice to say such annoying things. He turned around slowly, careful not to move either leg too suddenly. Castiel only seemed amused when Dean glared at him. Stupid, attractive bastard. “Did Sam tell everyone to baby me?”

Castiel sighed and walked to Dean’s side, slipping a strong arm around his waist and hauling Dean’s arm around his shoulders before Dean could protest. “Buy me dinner first,” Dean quipped, grinning when he got an eye roll for his trouble.

“Come on,” Castiel insisted, “Meg will have your head if you ruin her work.” He looked pointedly down at Dean’s heavily bandaged but newly metal-free right leg. Castiel stepped forward but Dean held back, feeling petulant. “Don’t make me carry you,” Castiel warned.

Tempting. But he relented, leaning more of his weight than was probably necessary into Castiel’s side. Castiel was wearing blockers, apparently, but Dean could still catch a whiff of his scent underneath, smooth and spiced and filling Dean’s head with all kinds of ideas, just like it had when Castiel had returned his father’s ring.

Castiel deposited him carefully back on the bed and elevated his right leg with a pillow. Dean didn’t feel as agitated now but he pouted up at Castiel anyway, hoping to see his pink lips quirk up at the corners. It worked.

Castiel took the seat next to his bed. “I take it you’re pleased to be out of the fixator?”

Dean snorted. He would have been  _ glad  _ to have the fixator off thirty days ago. Now, he was positively ecstatic.

“Understatement of the century.” He crossed his arms, grateful to feel the cool metal of his ring brush against his bare arm. He had missed it for long enough that he still liked the reassurance of its presence, even two weeks after Castiel had returned it.

His nose twitched as the faintest trace of something burned and acrid reached him, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Probably a disgruntled patient passing by the door.

Castiel’s brow furrowed slightly for just a moment, then smoothed back out. His eyes flicked up from Dean’s crossed arms.

“Listen—” Dean started, unable to look directly into those clear blue eyes. He stared hard at the stitching on his hospital blanking instead. “I can’t believe I haven’t said it yet—” Yes he could. Sincerity gave him anxiety. “—but thank you. For, uh...well, for saving my life, I guess. Or for being part of the process of saving my life, anyway.” He chanced a glance at Castiel from under his lashes.

Castiel’s expression had softened. “Of course, Dean,” he said. 

It was completely the wrong time to think so, what with both of them being so sincere, but the guy really had one hell of a voice; Dean wondered absently whether or not Castiel realized that pitched a bit softly like that, he could actually sound  _ more _ commanding if he wanted to. He doubted it.

“We should hang out sometime,” he said, feeling brave. “Outside of our rendezvous in the field, I mean.”

Castiel looked surprised.

“Yeah?”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, feigning nonchalance with a shrug. “Between PT and my inability to go very far on my own, I haven’t been out to eat in weeks; you know the Roadhouse?” Castiel nodded. “Let’s go for a burger and a beer. Friday?”

For a moment Castiel looked conflicted and Dean held his breath, but then Castiel’s face cleared and he smiled.

“Friday,” he agreed, and Dean smiled too.

— 

He knew, Castiel  _ knew _ that this was not a date. Of course it wasn’t. Dean was engaged; for all he knew, Benny might be joining them tonight. There was no point in putting on a show for anyone.

Castiel huffed loudly, annoyed with himself for wanting to impress half of a mated-to-be pair and with the clothing industry for making two shirts that were at once nearly indistinguishable from one another and yet, somehow, drastically different when on his frame. He tugged the first one over his head and grabbed his keys and wallet, heading for the door with just enough time to avoid being late (as if lateness  _ mattered _ ).

Dean was already sitting at the bar when Castiel arrived, his crutches leaned against the chair. Selfishly, he took a moment to watch Dean uninterrupted. His cheerful demeanor and clean-but-casual appearance made him look wonderfully inviting.

Eventually, he made his way over and got Dean’s attention with a hand on his shoulder. Dean felt so warm through the soft cotton of his shirt and Castiel’s stomach flipped as his gaze traveled over Dean’s exposed neck.

Abruptly, Castiel realized that he was unnecessarily keyed up over Dean’s  _ shoulder. _ How ridiculous. He silently chided himself as he took a seat next to Dean.

“Was Benny not interested in burgers?”

Dean laughed, signaling to the bartender for two beers. “He’s sure done a great job of pretending to be my husband the last few months, hasn’t he?” He opened his menu and Castiel followed suit, covering the very embarrassing whimper that threatened to escape him with a cough. What was  _ wrong _ with him?

“I think he’s probably a little sick of me by now,” Dean was saying, “The guy deserves a break.”

“Don’t be silly,” Castiel countered, just as the waitress arrived to take their orders.

“C’mon!” Dean insisted, a few drinks later. Their burgers were long gone, but Castiel was happy to stay and talk as long as Dean wanted. “You’re gorgeous, you must have had at least  _ one _ patient hit on you during the ambulance ride.”

Castiel preened at the compliment, forgetting to feel guilty for doing so thanks to the beer he’d had. Oh, fuck it. Maybe he couldn’t be with Dean the way he wanted, but he could subsist on the little bits of attention he  _ did _ get from him.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, “Last Halloween, we got called to a sorority house. No one was actually hurt; we found out later that one of the girls had gotten drunk, left her shoes somewhere, and got so upset when she couldn’t find them that she called 911.”

Dean snickered, delighted.

“Balthazar and I were nearly out the door when another girl stops in front of me and just stares.” Castiel did his best to imitate the drunken amazement as he remembered it. Dean laughed again. “Then, without any warning, she turns around and shouts ‘I love everyone at this party!’. Then she turns  _ back _ to me and with no warning at all reaches up, cups my cheek, and tells me very solemnly that she likes my beard.”

Dean was practically howling with laughter by the end of the story, and Castiel just knew there was a dopey smile on his own face.

“Wait,  _ wait _ —” Dean said once he had caught his breath, “She liked your  _ beard? _ I’ve never seen you with a beard!”

“I had one at the time,” Castiel said, shrugging.

“Aww,” Dean cooed, reaching up to tap Castiel’s cheek. “I bet you look good with a little peach fuzz.” 

Castiel blushed. Dean leaned nearer to him, laughing again, and Castiel caught the smell of chamomile and cedar.

Dean had taken a cab to the Roadhouse after his PT session, so when they’d talked themselves hoarse, Castiel helped Dean into the passenger seat of his car. Despite the hour, he still felt unusually wired.

When they reached Dean’s home, Castiel helped Dean out of the car and handed him his crutches, but Dean tucked them under one arm and slung the other around Castiel’s shoulders instead. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at how pleased Dean looked with himself when Castiel slipped his arm around Dean’s waist to balance him.

“I had fun tonight,” Castiel announced as they carefully ascended the few steps leading up to the front door.

“Yeah?” Dean beamed at him. “I did, too. We should do it again.” He pulled away so that he could lean against the door, facing Castiel, and if Castiel’s fingers took their time disconnecting from Dean’s warmth, well, who could blame him.

“Will you be alright on your own?” Castiel asked, worried at the thought of Dean hobbling up to bed unaided.

“I’ll be fine; I’ve been practicing,” Dean joked, but then his eyes widened slightly and his next sentence was pitched lower, heavier. “You could come in anyway, if you wanted to.”

Dean’s wonderful scent was suddenly stronger, woodier than before. Castiel inhaled deeply on instinct, a little dazed, and when he focused on Dean’s face again he found that Dean was watching him closely.

Very belatedly, Castiel recognized that the cedar and chamomile scent he’d caught from Dean earlier had been arousal. His heart skipped a beat and picked up at the idea; there was not much he could do to hide his own interest. Dean had been aroused back at the bar. Dean was aroused  _ now. _ And he had just invited Castiel to his bed.

Dean smirked ever so slightly, still watching him, and Castiel knew he’d picked up the scent of rainwater mixing with cedar. He reached out to cup Castiel’s jaw and Castiel turned into the contact for a moment before he could stop himself. A thumb stroked softly over his cheekbone, and when Castiel opened his eyes it was to find himself pinned by Dean’s hungry, appreciative gaze.

Dean came closer, close enough that if either of them spoke their lips would almost certainly brush.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, and Castiel shivered. “ _ I like your beard. _ ”

Castiel made a disgruntled sound, scowling slightly. “Shut up.” 

Dean laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all, “I couldn’t resist.” He pulled Castiel close and kissed the corner of his mouth for real this time. Castiel chased him when he pulled away, kissing him more fully, feeling Dean’s smile under his lips.

It felt  _ wonderful. _

When they pulled back from one another, Dean’s lovely peridot eyes shone in the dark, roving over Castiel’s face and widening when the pad of his thumb brushed over Castiel’s parted lips. Eager for more contact he pressed his lips against Dean’s finger in a kiss, watching as Dean pulled his own bottom lip between his teeth.

“Fuck, Cas, you’re so—” Without finishing the thought Dean leaned towards him, again, kissing him much less chastely than before. Castiel would have been perfectly happy to let Dean kiss him until the end of the world, if not for the alarm bells going off somewhere in the back of his mind.

_ Benny. _

Castiel was pulled from the heavy fog of arousal and exciting, passionate first kisses like someone had hooked him behind the navel and plunged him into icy water.

What was he  _ thinking, _ doing this? What was  _ Dean _ thinking? Castiel hadn’t pegged him as an adulterer, but it didn’t really matter—regardless of Dean’s actions tonight, there was no denying that Castiel should have held himself to higher standards.

Maybe there was some explanation, some dynamic to Dean’s relationship with Benny that could justify what was happening now. But if there was, he didn’t know about it, and therefore couldn’t simply rely on that being the case. Here he was enthusiastically kissing someone he knew to be engaged; this was—at least on his part—a betrayal to some degree.

Benny didn’t deserve that. He’d said himself that he cared about and had a good relationship with Dean, and watching them interact was all the proof anyone with functioning eyes needed to see that he was being truthful. What could Castiel claim to have that Benny didn’t? Castiel couldn’t even claim sole heroism for Dean’s rescue after the fire, for God’s sake. He had just been one of many people responsible for saving Dean’s life.

Dean caught Castiel’s lower lip between his own and Castiel pressed back hard, allowing himself one last indulgence—although he felt sick with himself for taking even that much more—before jerking his head to the side, disconnecting his mouth from Dean’s.

Castiel shut his eyes as Dean’s lips dragged softly over the stubble on his cheek, willing himself to break the spell. “Dean,” he said, inhaling sharply at the low murmur of acknowledgment against the edge of his jaw, “Dean, stop.” He was proud that his voice sounded firmer now, for both their sakes. A very minor victory.

Dean pulled back, confused.

“We—Dean, I can’t.”

Castiel watched miserably as Dean come back to himself, hurt and humiliation replacing the lust in his expression.

“I...I thought—” Dean tried, before snapping his jaw shut with an audible click. He leaned back against the door of his house—as far away as he could really get without retrieving his crutches from where they’d fallen—and clearing his throat. “Sorry, Cas,” he began again, and Castiel hated that his voice closed off along with his body language, “A few times, I could have sworn you seemed interested—”

_ As if  _ that _ was the issue here, _ Castiel thought sardonically.

“—But I must have misread something.” Dean fidgeted. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He was looking glumly down at their feet.

“It’s just—” Castiel rushed, although why it mattered that he set the record straight was beyond him, “—I can’t do that to...to Benny.” He mimicked Dean’s downcast eyes, suddenly too guilty to hold his head high. “He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“You don’t want to hurt...Benny?”

He expected Dean to sound...well, far less confused than he currently did, for one thing. Surely Castiel didn’t need to spell out for him why this was a problem? But then, Dean let out a soft  _ oh _ and Castiel breathed out, relieved not to have to verbalize his wrongdoings further.

“He never told me,” Dean said, sounding a little panicked, “ _ Shit, _ all this time I just assumed—”

Castiel raised his head, a little lost again, but Dean kept speaking, rambling a little now.

“He told me weeks ago and I’ve been making breeding jokes—I didn’t even realize you two hung out together—”

Breeding jokes? Dean wasn’t making much sense; even if he’d made a few jokes at his own expense, presumably about being an omega, Benny had to already know that Dean being biologically male meant he couldn’t  _ really _ get pregnant.

“God, I’m such an  _ ass, _ ” Dean covered his face with his hands, “It didn’t even occur to be that Benny might be into alphas—”

“Benny is into alphas?” Of all the ways Castiel might have predicted this conversation would go when it started four minutes ago, this was definitely not one of them. What did it matter if Benny was also interested in alphas? Dean was an omega; Castiel was quite sure of it.

“ _ You’re _ an alpha,” Dean pointed out, rather needlessly Castiel thought.

“Of course I am.”

“You just said you’re dating Benny.” Dean’s hands had come away from his face and he was staring at Castiel as though he’d grown three extra heads and was being willfully difficult. Truth be told, the sentiment was mutual.

“You’re  _ engaged _ to Benny!” Castiel exclaimed, feeling like he was losing his mind.

“I— _ what?! _ ”

Dean gaped at him as they stood there in the dark, blinking owlishly at each other. Castiel could feel Dean’s deeply furrowed brow on his own face.

“Okay, wait, wait…” Dean closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “...back up. You told me to stop kissing you because... because you think I’m engaged...to Benny.”

Castiel nodded dumbly.

“Okay.” Dean took a deep breath and stood a little straighter, looking Castiel in the eye. “I thought you were rejecting me because  _ you _ were in a relationship with Benny. You said you didn’t want to hurt him.”

A small, hysterical laugh escaped him. “I’m not dating Benny,” Castiel said weakly, “I thought I was hurting him by kissing his fiancee.”

“Cas.” Dean put his hands firmly on Castiel’s shoulders. “I’m not engaged to Benny. What made you think I was?”

There was a very small part of Castiel’s mind that dared to hope, seemingly processing this news and the accompanying confusion much quicker than the rest of him.

“He…he said that’s why he was allowed to see you in the hospital,” Castiel said slowly, “You were only allowed to see family members and as your fiance, he counted as family.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips. “Cas,” he said, sounding on the verge of laughter, “Benny lied to them. He told them we were engaged so they would let him visit.”

“But...your ring?”

“What, this?” Dean held his right hand up in between them, the familiar silver ring shining on his finger. “This isn’t an engagement ring, Cas,” he said, “It belonged to my dad. It’s one of the few things he left me and Sam.” He looked at it fondly. “That’s...that’s why I was so messed up when I thought I lost it. And why I was so relieved when you brought it back to me.”

He replaced his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezed gently before sliding both hands to wind around Castiel’s neck. Castiel’s hands slid around Dean’s waist out of habit, steadying him.

“You’re not engaged,” Castiel said, feeling the words on his tongue. 

Dean smiled, leaning close again. “I’m not engaged,” he agreed, laughing lowly, “and you aren’t dating anyone.” He pressed a quick, hesitant kiss to Castiel’s mouth, “Since that’s the case...do you want to come in?”

Just like that, Dean’s scent was teasing him again, pulling him in and coaxing his own arousal back to the surface. He held Dean tightly against him, tilted his head and connected their mouths as a helpless, half-whimper of approval left him.

He heard Dean fumbling with his keys and then he was wriggling in Castiel’s grasp. While Dean unlocked the door, Castiel bent down to retrieve his crutches, and a moment later they were inside and Castiel was pushing Dean to rest against the opposite side of the door, mindful of his unsteady legs even as he leaned forward to kiss him again.

Eager as he seemed, Dean must also have realized how long he’d been standing up. Even with the help of the door, Castiel knew he shouldn’t stay upright for much longer.

“Upstairs?” Castiel asked, leaning his forehead against Dean’s, feeling him nod.

“You...uh,” Dean said, tone somewhere between nervous and apologetic as he pushed away from the door a little, “You won’t be able to chase me, though. Not with my legs the way they are.”

Wordlessly, Castiel batted Dean’s hand away from where he’d been reaching for his crutches and scooped him up, swiftly but carefully. Dean squawked a little indignantly but did wrap his arms cooperatively around Castiel’s shoulders as he went up the stairs, following Dean’s scent to his bedroom. He placed Dean down on the bed and wasted no time crawling over him, forcing Dean to lie back against the covers.

“I don’t need to chase you,” Castiel said between fervent kisses, “I already have you.”

Dean’s breathless laughter transformed into a pleased sigh as Castiel sucked gently at the underside of his jaw. His skin was warm under Castiel’s mouth and he found it difficult to detach himself, preferring instead to drag and brush his lips and tongue along whatever new skin he encountered.

Hands came up and slipped underneath the hem of his shirt, petting along his stomach before sweeping around to his lower back. Dean tugged him down and Castiel went willingly, nibbling harder than he meant to at the skin just above Dean’s collarbone when their groins pressed together. He soothed the abused skin with his tongue apologetically, but the way one of Dean’s hands flew up to grip at his hair made him think Dean didn’t really mind.

“Cas,” Dean said insistently, pushing Castiel’s shirt up, “Get this off.”

In one fluid motion, his shirt was off and discarded elsewhere in the room and Dean’s quickly followed suit. He intended to lean back down right away, but Dean’s wide eyes were examining him appreciatively. Instead, he remained upright and ground his hips down against Dean’s, loving the way his eyes fluttered shut briefly. In retaliation, Dean brought his hands to Castiel’s chest, thumbing gently, curiously over his nipples and smirking when Castiel bit his lip. 

Slowly, warm hands slid over his midsection and down to work at his belt buckle. Castiel sucked in a breath when the button of his jeans came undone and as soon as Dean got his zipper down he leaned forward again, groaning brokenly at the warmth of Dean’s bare skin against his own. He dropped kiss after desperate kiss against Dean’s full lips as though he intended to reach some unattainable number that would constitute enough.

Castiel estimated that they could do this forever and it  _ still _ wouldn’t suffice, but he was more than happy to try anyway. 

Dean’s hands were on his back again, pressing Castiel against him to meet the upward grind of his hips and licking wetly into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel could feel Dean’s erection through the layers of their clothes and it made him giddy, especially when Dean shoved at the waistband of his pants and underwear and slid them over the swell of his ass, grabbing greedily at the newly exposed skin.

Instead of waiting to chafe himself against rough denim he sat up again—though he was finding it increasingly difficult to do so—and fumbled with the clasp of Dean’s jeans. Once he admitted defeat in his effort to remove both their pants without actually standing, the process went much faster.

Dean moved further up the bed, fully naked now, and Castiel took a moment to admire the view. Dean was stunning, but that was no surprise. He especially liked the flush that spilled down Dean’s chest, and the softness of his thighs, slightly parted. Castiel reached to rub softly at large scar above Dean’s left knee, watching Dean swallow thickly and look away from him.

“You’re beautiful, Dean,” he soothed, crawling over Dean again and kissing him reverently. Dean kissed him back, but didn’t say anything.

Ah, well. There would be time to convince him later.

He looked down the length of their bodies to position himself correctly and then thrust gently against Dean, pulling a swear and a broken moan from his throat at the friction. The heavy, cedar-and-rain scent all around them was overwhelming in the best of ways and Castiel buried his face in Dean’s neck to breathe in as much of it as he could. One of his hands trailed downward as Dean clung to him, and Castiel was all too eager to drag two fingers past Dean’s balls to his hole, warm and already quite slick.

Dean’s breath hitched and he bent one leg as Castiel circled his rim and pushed in slowly, his pulse hammering under Castiel’s wandering tongue. Remembering Dean’s reaction from earlier, Castiel bit at his neck experimentally as tight heat enveloped his fingers. Dean arched his back and swore again, his erection twitching against Castiel’s hip.

Truly, Castiel  _ meant _ to take things slowly so that he could fully appreciate everything about Dean Winchester from top to bottom. In reality, he was barely holding it together as it was, and Dean was no more patient judging by the way he circled his hips against Castiel’s thrusting fingers.

Castiel took pity on both of them at last, kissing Dean soundly before removing his fingers and repositioning himself between Dean’s spread thighs. Dean folded his legs as best he could around Castiel’s hips and tugged insistently, growling low in the back of his throat when Castiel chuckled.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean pleaded, grinding up so that Castiel’s cock slid teasingly over his hole, covering his length in slick, “Fuck me.”

Who was he to deny such a lovely request?

Castiel’s eyes rolled back into his head as he sank into Dean inch by inch. It took all his willpower to refrain from slamming forward into the supple heat until he was satisfied, but he managed. Barely.

Dean gripped with twitching fingers at Castiel’s biceps, groaning loudly when Castiel bottomed out. Castiel panted hotly against Dean’s sternum, willing himself back from the brink of orgasm.

But Dean had other ideas and the legs around Castiel’s waist tugged him forward again, encouraging him to move. When he was sure he wouldn’t immediately pop his knot he drew back nearly all the way before pushing in again, simultaneously closing his lips around one of Dean’s nipples.

A choked version of his name left Castiel’s lips and Dean’s hands found their way to his hair again, keeping his head in place. Castiel bit gently at the nub before soothing it with his tongue, his hips thrusting rhythmically as though on autopilot.

“Nngh,  _ harder, _ Cas,” Dean pleaded.

Castiel sat up and pulled out completely, ignoring Dean’s protests for the moment. Clumsily, desperately, Castiel grabbed at Dean’s hips with greedy hands, sitting back on his heels and pulling Dean forward into his lap. He groaned loudly as he sunk all the way back in, relishing the pleased sounds falling from Dean’s lips as he fucked into him much more forcefully. He watched in a daze as Dean arched back against the bed, driving him deeper into his tight, wet hole.

He couldn’t stop himself from petting Dean’s chest, torso, and upper thighs as they fucked. When that was no longer enough he wrapped his hands under the bow of Dean’s back and bent over him, digging his fingers into his lower back as though he could hold Dean against him forever if he tried. 

Hands tangled in his hair and pulled him closer against freckled skin, and Castiel was only too happy to mouth mindlessly, drunk with pleasure, over whatever he could reach. When Dean tugged at his hair a second time Castiel followed until their mouths were slipping together again, warm and wet.

“God, you smell good,” Dean said brokenly against his lips, tugging Castiel’s head to the side so he could lick along Castiel’s throat, “Like a thunderstorm.”

Castiel snapped his hips forward with renewed vigor once, twice, and on the third one Dean cried out, fisting one hand in the bed covers so hard his knuckles went white. When he repeated the angle Dean clenched down around him tightly, swiveling his hips in a filthy grind.

“Ah,  _ f-fuck! _ ”

His knot was already swelling and starting to catch on Dean’s rim with each thrust. “Dean, I’m—” Castiel tried to warn him that he wouldn’t last much longer, but his mind was too whited out for him to form the words.

“Yeah, that’s it Cas,” Dean encouraged him, “Wanna feel your knot, c’mon—”

Castiel thrust hard into Dean again, aided by Dean digging his heels into Castiel’s ass, and his knot finally caught. He near-sobbed as the first wave of his orgasm rushed over him, his cock throbbing as he spent himself inside Dean. He managed not to bite down between Dean’s shoulder and neck, where a mating bite would go, but it was a very near thing.

Castiel kept twitching his hips as he slipped his hand down to where they were connected, sliding his fingers through the wetness there. He wrapped slippery fingers around Dean’s erection, stroking him quickly. Dean cried out, gripping at Castiel’s hair again.

“Yes,  _ yes _ —” Castiel kissed and bit at Dean’s collarbone, reveling in the sounds he was pulling from him. He felt Dean’s cock pulse in his grip and Castiel sought out his lips again, kissing him thoroughly as Dean painted both of them with his release.

“Fuck, that was good,” Dean declared once their breathing had evened out.

Castiel smiled, shifting them carefully onto their sides to wait out his knot. “How do your legs feel?” he asked, swiping at the mess on their stomachs with a corner of the blanket.

“A little stiff,” Dean admitted, eyes bright and happy, “but it was worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benny IS engaged...to Andrea. But they haven't announced anything yet, so Cas shot himself in the foot AND made Benny terrified that he had a stalker.
> 
> Nice.


End file.
